


Beach. Sunflowers. Painting.

by WinterHoneybee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:42:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterHoneybee/pseuds/WinterHoneybee
Summary: Three-word prompt given to me by my friend a while back!





	Beach. Sunflowers. Painting.

Tony always hated the ocean.

 

Sure, he had a beach house. His house in Malibu was built over a goddamn ocean, for crying out loud.

 

Most people laughed when they found out that the great and mighty Tony Stark feared 97% of the earth. Most people assumed it was because he was afraid of the unknown, and as everybody knows, Tony Stark knows all.  There wasn’t anything this man didn’t know about, or couldn’t figure out.

 

But they cackled when Tony Stark would stand barefoot on the beach every year, the waves dancing around his toes. He had his pants rolled up to his knees, and wore a flower print t-shirt, the ones that you’d expect men Tony Stark’s age to wear. He’d stare at the ocean for hours, watching the waves crash upon the shore. Even during bad weather, everyone counted on Tony Stark to be there.

 

They went absolutely livid, on one day of the year. The reporters would have a field day, without fail every year, like clockwork.

 

On the Fourth of July, Tony Stark sat at the ocean, a picnic blanket sprawled out on the sand. It wasn’t an expensive blanket, as it looked battered, worn down. Used countless times, as though it had been used every single Fourth of July, starting from the very first. Various stains were splotched across the blanket, as though along the way, someone had stopped caring for it.

 

Tony Stark would open the picnic basket, only to reveal flowers. Sunflowers. He would stare at them angrily, his face turning red with anger. Or perhaps it was flushed due to tears. No one would know, under those sunglasses he wore.

The flowers were beautiful. Strong, lengthy stems complete with a soft pad surrounded by glimmering, yellow petals. They were the best flowers in the country, without a doubt.

 

Everybody knew every year Tony would stare at the ocean, focused and determined. As though he were waiting for something. 

 

What did he lose in the sea?

 

He would sit there patiently, his legs crossed as he sat atop of the bruised and battered blanket, clutching the sunflowers tightly. He watched the sunset, in all of its colorful glory. He listened to the sounds of countless others partying into the night, as he sat alone in silence, with only the waves to keep him company. 

 

He was waiting for the fireworks, as anyone would have. Malibu always had the best fireworks. 

Seconds before the fireworks started, Tony Stark would wade into the water, still clutching his flowers, allowing the waves to crash against him. With a grand flourish, he would throw the flowers up into the air, and watch as the spiraled down, floating on top of the waves. He would watch them be washed away from him, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

 

And as the first burst of colorful light shot out into the night sky, Tony Stark broke down into tears, his face in his hands. 

 

No one knew that Tony Stark had once loved the ocean. No one knew that Tony Stark had once loved someone. No one would know about Steven Grant Rogers, the artist Tony had once met at an art gallery. No one knows their story. 

 

No, not even Rhodey or Pepper would know their story.

 

No one knew Tony was broken, like shattered glass. No one could see past the facade he held, with straight suits and snarky attitude.

 

No one needed to know.

 

Only Tony remembered the late night walks along the shore, when all was quiet and everyone was sleeping. Only Tony remembered warm kisses and messy picnics. Only Tony knew Steve Rogers’ real ambition, to go overseas and help those who needed it more than he did.

Tony knew he was a fool to support Steve Rogers in an impossible dream, a hero’s dream. Tony knew he shouldn’t have supported it, the odds and the math paired along with it made it impossible. But something about Steve made him almost believe in the impossible. That one day, all of the pain and suffering Steve talked about could be stopped.

 

Steven Grant Rogers had died overseas, fighting for that dream that Tony had foolishly supported him on.

 

It was his fault Steve had died.

 

And nobody knew.

 

The art museum hosted another gallery, sending Tony an invitation, laced with gold and fine calligraphy. Tony saw the envelope and fell into a fit of rage, destroying his workshop, in hopes of forgetting his past.

 

Yet, a week later Tony had stepped out of the car, the lights of cameras instantly flashing. He flashed a wide, fake smile while holding up a peace sign, and strutted down the red carpet, his eyes turning to the paintings lining the walls. Upon closer inspection, he noticed they were all paintings of him. 

 

Him sleeping, him dancing. Him smiling, a real, genuine smile. In some he was hard at work, deep in concentration, tongue slightly stuck out, the way a little kid would have done.

 

However, his eyes moved to the very back of the room, the largest painting of them all, nearly taking up an entire side of the room. In a daze, he found himself walking towards the painting, dropping his champagne glass along the way. He didn’t care.

 

On the wall, was a large, golden framed painting of a happy, well-rested Tony Stark, smiling as though he were looking at a camera, in front of the beach. He had smears of ketchup and mustard on his cheek and his upper lip, and was pointing upwards at the sky, amazed at the fireworks. He was at a beach, the very same one he went to often. In the corner, lay a battered but perfectly clean picnic blanket. 

 

Tony paled, as he stared at the large painting of himself. His legs seemed to move on their own, his mind too fatigued to comprehend what was going on, his heart pounding too heavily against his chest. He stared at the description posted alongside the paintings. Now that he thought of it, it was the same black and white description posted alongside every painting.

 

**_Love you , Tony_ **

**_By: Steven Grant Rogers_ **

_ *** _

_ “You know, you don’t look so bad yourself.”, Steve Rogers said softly, wrapping his arms around Tony.  _

 

_ The two were at the beach, the waves dancing around their ankles, as the swayed side to side, enjoying the rhythm of the waves, enjoying the warmth of each other. _

 

_ “Please, Captain.”, Tony smiled, batting his eyelashes playfully, “Looked in a mirror lately?” _

_ The taller man blushed, his cheeks turning pink, “Tony.” _

 

_ “I know, I know.”, Tony muttered softly, burrowing his head further into his significant other’s chest, “I missed you, that’s all.” _

 

_ Steve kissed his forehead gently, as though he were afraid. Afraid, that this would be their last moments together. _

 

_ “I missed you too.”, he said softly, as Tony hummed happily. _

 

_ Together, the watched the sunset, the sky streaking with pinks and purples, the ocean contrasting it with its dark blue and green hues. They were content. _

_ As the night settled, they were still looking up at the sky, searching for the first firework to grace the sky. _

 

_ And as the sky lit into an array of colors, the two of them looked at each other and smiled. _

 

_ They were together.  _

 

_ And that was all that mattered. _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry :)


End file.
